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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999750">What Baking Can Do</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995'>Celly1995</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the kazer dick cake fic of shame and glory [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Awkward Boners, Baker Patrick, Chocolate, Established Relationship, Hockey Player Jonny, Idiots in Love, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:22:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny blames this all on Valentine's Day, baked goods, and fucking Pavlov.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the kazer dick cake fic of shame and glory [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/456643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Baking Can Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This thing has been in my head for damn near a year. I'd meant to get this done and posted on Feb 14th, but that just didn't happen. Thanks, as always, to Groolover for the beta. Title taken from the musical <i>Waitress.</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In all honesty, Jonny tries to keep his nose out of Patrick's business—as in the business he actually owns. That's one hundred percent Patrick's thing—and whereas Patrick actually knows a hell of a lot about hockey and can actually contribute when that's the subject at hand, Jonny knows fuck all about working in a bakery, let alone running one.</p>
<p>He's having a hell of a hard time keeping his actual, literal nose out of whatever bakery-related things Patrick's doing these days, though. Because it's not as if Jonny can help that Patrick smells like vanilla and amaretto and especially chocolate more often than he doesn't.</p>
<p>For about a week, the scents are light enough that Jonny doesn't really even consciously clock them. But as Patrick's work days get longer and longer the closer they get to Valentine's Day, the smells Jonny generally associates with baked goods get stronger. He can't say he noticed it at all last year—their first Valentine's Day since they'd decided to actually try a relationship—as he'd been on an extended road trip up in Canada literally the entire fucking week before the holiday and didn't even get back to Chicago until the eighteenth—at which point he and Patrick had gone out for an amazing dinner and a movie, celebrating without the stress of social expectation and absurdly packed crowds anywhere and everywhere they went.</p>
<p>But he's definitely noticing it now. He doesn't normally crave sweets, but he let himself have a small dark chocolate truffle after Patrick brought some test recipe results home with him the other night, and that held him pretty well.</p>
<p>Two nights before Valentine's Day, Patrick drags himself over to Jonny's once the bakery's closed and greets him with a smile that would <em>probably</em> make it to his eyes, if his eyes weren't only barely open due to exhaustion. He doesn't seem to have that aura of stress that he did before their vacation to Jamaica, the one that had Jonny worried Patrick was reaching some sort of mental and physical burnout. He just seems exhausted like anyone would be if they were averaging three to four hours of sleep per night, only to be up again before sunrise each morning.</p>
<p>"You doing all right?" Jonny asks him as he steps aside to let Patrick through his front door.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Just looking forward to the fifteenth, when my visual spectrum doesn't consist almost entirely of red and white." He makes a face. "And pink. So much fucking pink."</p>
<p>"All the fancy, frilly-looking desserts?" He hands Patrick a bottle of the protein drink Jonny knows he likes best and follows his half-shuffling footsteps towards the couch. Patrick's always so good about making sure Jonny gets the shit his body needs, especially during the stretches of the season where he's burning fat and muscle faster than he can gain it. The very least Jonny can do is take care of Patrick the same way.</p>
<p>"Sorta. But mostly the fuckin' <em>dicks</em>."</p>
<p>Jonny blinks. "Uh."</p>
<p>Patrick takes a long swallow of his drink and flops onto the couch. "So many fuckin' dicks. I honestly didn't expect to be doing those after I left Buffalo. But I've had literally dozens of people specifically seek me out and ask if they'd be able to get all kinds of dick cookies. Tits and ass, too, but a disproportionately large number of dicks compared to all the things we're officially offering. I don't even have any of that shit on my website, or in our custom order option books, and I've only done three sets like that for bachelorette parties in the last year, so I don't know why—" He stops short, rolling his eyes heavenward at the same time the answer hits Jonny.</p>
<p>"Sharpy," they both say in unison, because who the fuck else would be behind it? It's not inconceivable that any bakery that does custom-decorated cookies wouldn't get a few requests, this time of year, but if Patrick's getting as many requests as he says, someone's got to be giving referrals.</p>
<p>"For what it's worth," Jonny says as he sits down next to Patrick. "I'm pretty sure he's not sending you those orders, like, maliciously. He's just the sort of guy who <em>knows</em> people who would want that sort of thing, and it's probably just word of mouth, after that, once they see what you can do." Patrick gives him a tired grin at that, and Jonny feels a little bit of that warm fuzzy feeling he gets sometimes when he says something that makes Patrick especially pleased. It's not like Patrick doesn't <em>know</em> he's got a talent for decorating cakes and cookies and shit. Hell, if he <em>wasn't</em> so good at it, the two of them probably wouldn't be together now—because if Jonny hadn't recognized his own dick, down to the most ridiculously specific details, staring at him in giant cake form from that bakery table back in Buffalo, then he'd probably never have had Kaner track him down and lay out for him that their little fling a few weeks prior was far from forgettable.</p>
<p>"You really know how to stroke an ego," Patrick mumbles, settling up against Jonny as he powers on the entertainment system and starts to browse the saved stuff under his profile.</p>
<p>"Well, that and other things," Jonny points out. He wraps his arms around Patrick's middle when he laughs and tugs him a little closer. He half-watches as Patrick selects a movie he's talked about wanting to see, nuzzling at Patrick's neck instead of saying anything about how he knows damn well they're not going to get halfway through it before Patrick's snoring. "You smell like chocolate."</p>
<p>Patrick holds one of his hands up in front of them both, showing the palm and then the back of it, along with his forearm. "Eighty-pound batch of triple chocolate cookie dough," he says, flexing his wrist so that the veins in his forearm pop a little. "There's fucking cocoa powder and melted chocolate just ground into my damn skin at this point." He rotates his hand again, so that Jonny can see the large splotch of lightly-stained skin on the inside of Patrick's wrist he would have otherwise mistaken for a faint bruise. "I've scrubbed up to my elbows over a dozen times today, and it still sticks around."</p>
<p>"Could be worse," Jonny says, giving a light, playful bite to Patrick's neck, amused to note that the skin there <em>tastes</em> like fucking chocolate.</p>
<p>Patrick exhales the softest of moans at the stimulus and squirms within Jonny's arms. "Guess it could, yeah." He makes the noise again when Jonny flicks his tongue against the point where Patrick's neck and shoulder meet, and he shudders and digs his fingers into the muscle above Jonny's knee when Jonny takes his earlobe between his teeth and sucks gently on it. "You better be careful, doing that shit," Patrick half-slurs. "Don't go starting what you can't finish."</p>
<p>"I can finish what I start," Jonny assures him.</p>
<p>Or, well, he could if Patrick didn't fall asleep before that point.</p>
<p>It's not the first time this week it's happened, and Jonny just gives a little mental sigh and shifts to lessen the way his dick rubs against his jeans. The other night, Patrick had fucking dozed off with Jonny's dick in his hand, then mumbled some sort of protest when Jonny told him to just roll over and go to sleep, trying to get back to the rhythm he'd mostly had going before he drifted off—only to sink back into sleep a second time. Jonny's pretty sure it's not a commentary on his foreplay skills, and doesn't take offense to it this time, either. Hell, Patrick had fallen asleep during dinner two nights ago and nearly drowned in his soup.</p>
<p>He can live with the blue balls, especially if it means Patrick's getting some much-needed sleep. So he takes a minute or two to carefully shift the two of them so that neither will end the night with a stiff neck or fucked-up back, then simply breathes deeply of the scent of chocolate mixed with the even more comforting smell that's particularly Patrick and settles in for a nap of his own.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>* * *</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>It isn't until about two weeks after Valentine's Day that Jonny encounters his first real problem with Patrick's job.</p>
<p>Well, no, that's not quite it. He doesn't have a problem with Patrick's profession, in and of itself. It's just that it turns out there are…<em>complications</em>. Completely unforeseen ones. Ones he had no idea he'd ever need to prepare himself for.</p>
<p>Jonny blames this all on Valentine's Day, baked goods, and fucking Pavlov.</p>
<p>He's about three quarters of the way through a long run through the park when he stops to take a rest. He's minding his own business, using his shirt to wipe some of the sweat from his face as he sucks air, when it happens.</p>
<p>Someone walks nearby with a giant hot chocolate from the cart Jonny had only half-noticed across the park during his run, and Jonny realizes with a low sort of dawning alarm about twenty seconds later that he's dangerously fucking close to finding himself in a compromised state.</p>
<p>There's no conscious thought involved, and it takes him longer than it probably should to pinpoint the reason for the most awkward semi he's ever had since the age of about fourteen. Patrick had come home from the bakery smelling of chocolate and sugar and vanilla and caramel and that sort of thing every day for at least two weeks before Valentine's, and Jonny didn't realize he associated those scents so closely with not only Patrick, but also with all the times they'd fooled around, especially as the aroma tended to intensify the higher Patrick's body temperature climbed, and the more he moved. And the fact that he'd fucking <em>tasted</em> like chocolate when Jonny had sucked on his fingers or his neck had probably only cemented the damned link in his brain between those smells and tastes and fucking...well, <em>fucking.</em></p>
<p>To add to Jonny's horror, the person holding the hot chocolate stares at him for a moment—a moment in which he's not sure he's ever felt more terrified that someone might be able to read minds—and then starts making his way over, heading directly for him.</p>
<p>Jonny affects an awkward pose, his body turned away from the main path and one leg up on a large rock so he can sort of crouch in on himself under the guise of some stretching, but he can't ignore when the guy stops maybe two feet behind Jonny, clears his throat, and addresses him with a "hey."</p>
<p>He really should have just hit the treadmill this afternoon instead of deciding to jog along the park path, no matter how unseasonably nice the day turned out to be.</p>
<p>Jonny turns his head to at least acknowledge the guy and lifts one hand in a quick wave. He's still breathing hard, a consequence of pushing himself so hard the last fifteen minutes or so, maybe made a little worse by the faint undercurrent of anxiety pulling at him. Fuck, why couldn't this guy have been holding a hot cup of coffee instead?</p>
<p>"You. You, uh, you play for the Hawks, right? The captain?"</p>
<p>...That's probably just about the only thing that could make Jonny feel more awkward—knowing he's been recognized.</p>
<p>"Yeah." No, wait, the most awkward thing would be if the guy wants a picture. Jonny legitimately doesn't mind being approached for that sort of thing about eighty percent of the time, but the times when he's in something embarrassingly ratty or been doing something dumb or he looks like hell because he's not feeling well—or has been running for nearly an hour, like right now—fills up about half of that other twenty percent.</p>
<p>"Nice. Well, keep on crushin' it, dude, you guys are fun as hell to watch this season."</p>
<p>"Uh, yeah, thanks, we're trying," Jonny says, awkward as fuck but supremely grateful that the guy just grins and nods at him, then just reaches out for a fistbump before moving along, the cup of hot chocolate going with him. Jonny breathes a sigh of relief once the guy is gone, does a little bit of somewhat-less-awkward stretching until he's sure his traitorous body has its shit together, then heads off at a slow jog to finish up his run and head home.</p>
<p>Just before he hops in the shower, he shoots Patrick a text: <em>We're still on for tonight, right?</em> There's a simple <em>yeah, ofc</em> waiting for him once he emerges, and Jonny hesitates for a moment before deciding fuck it, they've got the type of relationship where he can say certain types of things. <em>Good. Because we've gotta have a LOT of sex before the next roadtrip.</em></p>
<p>Jonny's phone rings less than ten seconds after that message goes through. When he answers, the first thing out of Patrick's mouth is "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but is there a particular reason we're going to be embarking on this particular endeavor?"</p>
<p>He knows he might as well just bite the bullet, because he's going to end up telling Kaner all the details at some point, anyway. "We have to have a lot of sex and other shit where you don't smell like goddamn chocolate." He drops his voice, even though he's alone in his house. "Because Pavlovian responses are a real goddamn thing, and I just had a nice demonstration of that, out in public."</p>
<p>There's a strangled noise on the other end of the line, followed by a beat of silence, and then Patrick laughs so hard he actually wheezes. "Oh my <em>God</em>, Jonny," he finally manages, sounding breathless. "Yeah. We can work on fixing your little problem—well, not-so-little problem, I guess, which is probably <em>more</em> of a problem, if you're talking about anything at all like what I think you are. But we might have to postpone our plans about half an hour or so tonight, all right? I was already gonna shower before we went out, but now we're going to have to meet at your place instead of mine."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"We're not going to get you un-trained at my place. Not tonight, anyway." Kaner gives a snorting little laugh. "I made brownies with fudge icing about twenty minutes ago and my entire place smells like chocolate."</p>
<p>"Of course you did," Jonny says, shaking his head, and Patrick just laughs at him again.</p>
<p>"You are the most ridiculous fucking health-conscious dork I know, Jonny," he says, and Jonny huffs. "But leave it to you to get turned on by chocolate."</p>
<p>"Hey, it's <em>you</em> that does it for me, not chocolate," Jonny points out.</p>
<p>"Guess we'll test that theory out tonight," Kaner says, and it's Jonny's turn to snort. "Okay, I've gotta go. But you're telling me the whole story in glorious detail at some point tonight, right?"</p>
<p>It's chirping fodder for potentially the rest of his life, but: "Yeah, probably."</p>
<p>"Awesome. Hey, you'd better be the one to pick where we eat tonight though," Patrick says, and Jonny can hear the giggle he's trying to suppress. "Because apparently you've gotta vet the dessert menu or we're gonna be stuck there for a while."</p>
<p>"...I really hate you," Jonny mutters, flopping down onto his mattress.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I love you, too," Patrick says cheerfully. "I'll see you tonight."</p>
<p>Jonny's lying on his back, his arm slung over his eyes, when his phone chimes with a text message alert a couple of minutes later. He has the stupidest goddamn chocolate craving right now, because of course he does.</p>
<p>At least he doesn't have a boner to go with it.</p>
<p>The text is from Patrick, and Jonny reads it twice, then chokes on a laugh and sits up. It just says <em>i've got an organic fair trade bar of chocolate that's 88% cocoa hidden in my box of Shredded Wheat in your pantry. all yours. you probably need it more than me.</em></p>
<p><em>I don't know if you're the best or the absolute worst</em> Jonny sends back after he pulls the bar of fancy gourmet chocolate out of the box, where Patrick's slid it between the cardboard and the plastic bag that holds the actual cereal. The smell of chocolate is wonderful, but the bite he allows himself is fucking <em>divine</em> as he savors it, letting it melt on his tongue.</p>
<p><em>both, probably</em> pops up on the screen a moment later as Jonny's wrapping the bar carefully back in its foil sleeve after caving and taking a second bite. Jonny huffs a laugh through his nose and grins.</p>
<p>Yeah, it's probably both. And, unfortunate Pavlovian responses aside, Jonny couldn't be happier with that fact.</p>
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